Blood, Sweat and Tears
by HopeCoppice
Summary: SPOILERS for all of series four. Vlad reflects on his mistakes. More than anything, he wishes Bertrand was there to help him fix them. Slash. COMPLETE
1. Sweat

**New angsty dramatic story. I promise it's not all angst. Some slashiness. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS for ALL OF SERIES 4.**

**Disclaimer: The show is not mine, etc etc.**

"Bertrand," Vlad murmured, still sound asleep, "Bertrand..."

Above him hung a single skeletal finger; Sethius'. Renfield had scattered the ashes of his tutor to the four winds by the time Vlad had finally come to his senses and been filled with remorse, and the bone was the only thing of Bertrand's he had been able to keep hold of without drawing his father's attention to the fact that _he'd_been the one to lock Bertrand's room and pocket the key.

Vlad wore it, sometimes, under his shirt, even though it creeped him out a bit. It was comforting, somehow, to know that Bertrand had worn it too. Usually, however, it simply hung over his coffin, as if pointing the finger of blame, blame Vlad knew he deserved. Reminding him never to judge a book by its cover.

Right now, though, it wasn't reminding him of anything. It didn't have to. He was reliving everything over and over again. Not just the night he'd _murdered_ the one person he should have trusted above everyone else; no, that would be too easy, too lenient a punishment. No, all he could see was every time he'd hurt his tutor. Every time he'd lost his temper and thrown a punch in training, every time he'd turned him away or sneered at him. He remembered almost turning him to stone, and he remembered telling him the only person he could trust was Erin. Even in his dreams, Vlad couldn't get over how incredibly badly _that_ had worked out for him.

And then, as if the thought of Erin had summoned her, he was standing in the throne room, exchanging verbal barbs, and Bertrand was walking in.

"BERTRAND!" He was yelling, now, in his dream, somehow separate from himself as he watched the stake plunge into Bertrand's heart. He couldn't see the vampire's face as he crumbled but he was sure it was full of hurt and confusion. Vlad watched the dust settle for what seemed like the thousandth time, barely aware of Erin in the background somewhere. "Bertrand," the part of him he was still in control of sobbed. Any moment now the scene would change and he'd be trapped in another painful memory, but that wasn't so unbearable because Bertrand would be there.

That was how it always went, but this time the scene didn't change. Erin stood there, hand over her mouth, staring at him in horror, and he stared back at her, and then she turned and fled and he was still there, still standing in the throne room covered in dust, covered in _Bertrand_. He fell to his knees, careful not to disturb the pile of dust, willing it to turn back into his tutor, but it didn't.  
"Bertrand..." It was all he could choke out.  
_"Vlad." _The word sounded echoey, hollow, as if from a distance, and Vlad sat up in a hurry, bashing his head on his coffin lid.

He opened the coffin and tried again, reaching up to pluck Bertrand's necklace from where it hung above him and slipping it over his head, trying to feel close to the man he'd known – the man he'd _killed_. He was dimly aware that he'd broken out in a cold sweat, but he didn't care; he just sat there shivering and trying to convince himself that Bertrand would be at breakfast.


	2. Tears

**Second chapter. Oi, angst doesn't stop for Christmas, y'know.**

**Disclaimer: Not miine.**

Bertrand wasn't at breakfast, of course. He never would be again. Vlad wasn't sure why that hurt so much more than knowing he'd never be in his own room again; it wasn't as if Bertrand had joined them for many meals after Sethius even before... before _things had gone wrong_. Perhaps, in the end, that was why; he'd driven Bertrand away in a thousand little ways before he'd driven a literal stake through his heart. His father fixed him with a shrewd look once they'd finished eating and suggested –_strongly_ suggested – that somebody should clear Bertrand's old room out and that it should probably be the person with the key. He couldn't think of a valid reason to disagree.

It was with a heavy heart that he slid the key into the lock and turned it. The last person who'd unlocked this door was Bertrand. The last person who'd closed it behind him and locked it from the inside. The last person who'd walked in and swept the entire room with his eyes, the last person who'd leant back against the door and wondered where to start.

Vlad was glad of the solid wood at his back as he looked around him. Piles and piles of books; he'd laughed at Bertrand for it once, teased him about being boring and stuffy. Later, he'd wondered what fresh treachery could require so much research material. When Bertrand had found him searching his room, though... he'd stood almost where Vlad was now, and he'd been calm, and polite, and Vlad... Vlad had been _awful_ to him. He'd accused him of plotting against him for no better reason than to make himself feel like he was right, and he'd seen a little of the light leave his former tutor's eyes. He hadn't even felt bad about it at the time.

Now, he stood in Bertrand's room, looking at all the things he'd treasured – not just the books, but also some weird mementoes from around the world, and Vlad was suddenly seized with a burning need to know if Bertrand had ever owned a camera. He couldn't take pictures of himself, of course, but he must have seen some amazing things in his travels. Had he ever taken a record of them away with him, or were the assortment of knick-knacks and rarities dotted around the room the only things he had to remind him of what he'd done?

It didn't matter now, Vlad realised; Bertrand himself was gone, and nobody would ever hear the story of where he'd acquired the elegant oil lamp Vlad could see in the corner of the room. This assortment of knick-knacks and rarities were all _he_ had to remember Bertrand by, and he could hardly bear to look at them. Maybe he should just get rid of it all, as his father no doubt wanted him to. He pulled the necklace out from where it was hidden under his shirt, and blinked down at it unseeingly. At least he could hang onto this; a bit of dead psychopath. What a wonderful reminder of all the times they'd shared. He let it fall, paying no attention when the cord snagged on his collar.

He'd barely glanced at the titles of a few books before he realised he wasn't ready for this. He couldn't deal with going through Bertrand's possessions; it felt like he was rifling through the pockets of a corpse. A corpse he'd _stabbed in the back_.

Tears welled; he tried to wipe them away on his shirt but ended up nearly stabbing himself in the eye with the _stupid_ bone necklace that was all he had left of Bertrand. It scraped painfully across his cheekbone – admittedly catching the tears – but that wasn't the reason Vlad stared at it for a few moments and then burst into ugly, undignified sobbing.


	3. Blood

**Another chapter. I hope you enjoy it - things get a little less thinky after this chapter... Let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Not my show.**

It took a while for him to admit it, but Vlad needed real blood now. He craved it, it consumed his thoughts; he finally understood what Bertrand had meant when he spoke of bloodlust. He'd thought his tutor had been speaking of what breathers knew as bloodlust – the desire to kill. This wasn't like that at all. He could _feel_ how much he needed the blood. If the street-fangs could beat it, though, surely he could?  
_The street-fangs had Bertrand._

The Chosen One tried to shake the thought off but it persisted, hanging over him until he caved in and ordered himself an entire vat of vintage blood. It had been bottled, he argued to himself, in the Middle Ages. There was no harm in _drinking_ it – not to would, in fact, be a waste of the breather lives taken to obtain it all those years ago. So the barrel sat in the cellar, and he opened it up now and then to dip a goblet in it and quench his terrible thirst before resealing it.

The Count came across him as he filled his cup one day, and noticed the finger hanging from his neck.  
"You're not wearing that disgusting thing, Vladdy, it's probably got all sorts of germs." It was the sentiment, Vlad knew, that his father really objected to, but he had given him a way to play along and the Chosen One decided to take it.  
"It's perfectly clean." The Count raised an eyebrow, but then his mouth curved upwards into a smirk.  
"Then you won't mind dropping it into your precious blood supply." Vlad opened his mouth to protest, but his father cut him off. "Drop it, or get rid of it, Vladimir. My school, my rules."

He really had to get himself his own place soon, he thought to himself as he held the necklace over the open barrel. There was a nail sticking out of the wood – above the bloodline – and if he aimed right he could drop the necklace over it, so he could still get it back. He had no desire to taint his delicious, unlife-sustaining blood, but if it came to a choice between going thirsty until he could restock and losing his one constant reminder of Bertrand, he would take the bloodlust.

His father thought he'd won, that much was clear; either Vlad would have to admit that his jewellery was insanitary and dispose of it, or it would land at the bottom of the barrel of blood and Vlad would have to drink his way down to it or leave it there to rot, both of which outcomes suited the Count perfectly. He probably didn't even realise the significance of it, Vlad reflected bitterly, he just wanted Vlad to obey him in all things.

Well, this time he would. He opened his hand and watched the finger plummet into the deep, rich blood. Gritting his fangs, and just to prove a point, he dipped his goblet again and took a sip. It actually didn't seem to have ruined the blood, which was some relief. He hooked the necklace back out – it had snagged on the nail just as he'd hoped – and held it up in triumph, glad for the lack of stains and drips, before slipping it back over his head and replacing the lid on the barrel.  
"The necklace stays." His father scoffed.  
"I don't know why _he_ wore it, let alone you." Vlad blinked at him.  
"To remind me never to judge a book by its cover."


	4. Waking

**Important chapter! Hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine**

"Bertrand," Vlad murmured, still sound asleep, "Bertrand..."

He hadn't bothered to take the necklace off when he got into his coffin today, he'd just let it rest on his chest, folded his arms across himself, and dropped into a fitful sleep. These days he didn't even close the coffin lid, knowing that at some point he'd jolt upright and preferring not to concuss himself if at all possible.

Of course, none of that mattered at the moment, because in his mind he was straddling Bertrand on the training room floor, stake held high above his head as his tutor goaded him. He moved back, disgusted with himself, and saw the look of disappointment on the older vampire's face as he realised how unworthy his Chosen One really was and got to his feet. Then the room around them rippled, Bertrand's hair flattening as if someone had attacked him with invisible straighteners, and he was moving towards him for a hug. Vlad tried to warn him, he tried so hard to throw the stake away, but as usual he could do nothing but stare in horror as Bertrand turned to dust and drifted to the floor.  
"Bertrand..." He gazed brokenly down at the dust and a longing stronger even than the bloodlust rose inside him. "I want you back," he admitted quietly through his sobs, "I need you back, Bertrand."  
_"Vlad."_ The voice seemed closer now, more real, and the Chosen One hated it for taunting him even as he clung to the sound of his name on Bertrand's tongue. _"Vlad! What-?"_

Vlad woke with a start as he felt a heavy weight against him. At some point in the night, he must have rolled over, because now he was lying on his side, and something substantially bigger than a bone necklace was draped around his neck. It wasn't until the something _moved_ that he realised this was probably cause for alarm and he should open his eyes sooner rather than later. When he did, he thought for a moment that he was still dreaming.

His tutor was lying next to him – half on top of him, in fact, in the cramped coffin – and removing his arm from where it seemed to have been around Vlad's neck, as if Bertrand was still clinging to him in that last, fatal hug. Wait, that _fatal hug_, so how-?

The older vampire was scrambling to get out of the coffin, but his coordination seemed a little off and Vlad dragged him back down before he could hurt himself. He was solid; he could be touched, moved. Not a dream, then? Or was this some fresh torture? Bertrand seemed as bewildered as he was.  
"Vlad... what's going on?"

It wasn't until a few minutes later, when they'd both assured themselves that the world around them was solid and that Bertrand really was Bertrand and Vlad was really Vlad – it was surprisingly hard to think of a question only one person knew the answer to, but they'd both managed it in the end – and shuffled into a slightly less awkward position by sitting at opposite ends of the coffin. Bertrand had done his best to get out again, but Vlad had grabbed him by his greatcoat as he continued to wobble.  
"Just stay still and tell me how you bring a vampire back from the dead."

The other vampire didn't respond, frowning down at his boots, and Vlad nudged him gently.  
"Not up to thinking about that stuff yet? I mean, you're bound to be a bit out of it-"  
"Why would I have my arms wrapped around you like that?" Vlad shrugged.  
"I don't know, because that's how-?" He cut himself off abruptly; he didn't want to think about how Bertrand had turned to dust.

He cast his mind around for anything he could change the subject to, anything at all.  
"Oh, here, you can have your necklace back..." He groped for it around his neck, but the bone was gone; only an empty cord remained at his throat. "I... I swear, it was there when I went to sleep."

He thought Bertrand would be furious with him, but his tutor's eyes simply narrowed.  
"Did you spill anything on it? Any..." He hesitated, but his brain didn't seem to be fully functioning on all levels yet and Vlad assumed he was stuck in information-gathering mode. "...bodily fluids?" Vlad's eyes widened – he hadn't been expecting _that_ – but Bertrand didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest, as if he was slightly detached from it all. "Not necessarily yours, of course." It took a moment for the Chosen One to pull his mind out of the gutter.  
"Um... it's been dropped in blood recently. That probably didn't do it many favo-"  
"Real blood?" He nodded, and Bertrand frowned. "Did you wear it while you were training?"

Vlad gave him a look that clearly said _don't be an idiot_. Of course he hadn't been training, and if he had, he wouldn't have worn a finger on a string. Well, probably not.  
"No, I haven't trained in it. Why? Do you know what's going on?" Bertrand shook his head.  
"I thought perhaps – but it would have needed to be exposed to sweat, so unless someone else-"  
"Oh." He thought of all the nights he'd woken in a panic and seized the necklace. "Yeah, it's... it has. What are you thinking?" But Bertrand had his theory-face on.

"Then... did Erin or Wolfie have it for a while?" Vlad shook his head decisively.  
"No. It's been with me all along. Why those two?" They didn't have anything in common; he couldn't follow his train of thought.  
"They're the most emotional people in the household, and the most likely to cry over anything. But if they didn't... It can't be that. There was a theory, a rumour really, that some sort of rite could bind a vampire to an object. Sethius must have used something like it to pull off his little trick, I thought perhaps the bone had held onto some of the power..." Vlad sat up a little straighter.  
"That sounds like it could be it. Why not?" Bertrand sighed.  
"Because although I'd definitely have enough of a connection with the vessel, it would take blood, sweat and _tears_ to release-"  
"Then that's what happened." Vlad grinned, hardly daring to believe it. "You're really back, you- I'm so glad."

Bertrand, however, seemed less than convinced.  
"But the tears-"  
"I cried for you, Bertrand, of course I did. How could I not?" The older vampire blinked and looked away, apparently no less uncomfortable with strong emotions than he had been before he was dusted.  
"You cried... for me? But you hate me."  
"I don't-" But Bertrand had shifted back into fact mode.  
"That would explain the rather compromising position we woke up in, then. I was around your neck because the necklace had been."  
"Bertrand, I don't hate you."  
"Was the sweat... was it when you were with Erin? It might affect..."  
"_Bertrand._ For one thing, no. Erin's gone, ran off with Malik. More importantly, stop trying to distract me. I don't hate you; if anything, you should hate me."

Bertrand lifted himself out of the coffin with difficulty.  
"We're not discussing this now, Vlad-"  
"Yes, we are. I don't hate you." Finally, Bertrand met his eyes once more, his own filled with hurt and confusion.  
"Why did you do it?" Vlad faltered; he hadn't stopped to consider that Bertrand still didn't know what had happened. "I found the proof, I did everything you asked... and you killed me with a_ hug_."  
"I thought – everything was so confusing, and Erin said you helped Malik with the duel-"  
"I was with _you_ the whole time." Bertrand didn't even sound accusatory, just completely bewildered. "Helping _you_."  
"The shapeshifter, I suppose she got a kick out of being a handsome man, I don't know, maybe you were just the biggest threat – she set you up. And I fell for it," he concluded bitterly, "I'm so sorry, Bertrand." It wasn't enough, _sorry_ could never be enough to make up for what he'd done to his most loyal friend.

Bertrand's face smoothed into his blank mask, and Vlad knew he'd lost all chance of any kind of reconciliation. His tutor, still leaning on the coffin edge, turned towards the door before glancing back over his shoulder.  
"Is my room as it was?" Vlad nodded miserably and handed over the key. Bertrand took it and stared at it for a moment. "What was the incantation you used? And why here?"  
"Incantation?" Bertrand shook his head with a puzzled frown as if to dismiss the issue, then set off towards the door again. He took two steps before crumpling in the middle of the floor.


	5. Wanting

**Penultimate chapter! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Vlad was at his tutor's side in seconds, terrified beyond all reason that he'd lost him again. It was a relief to find the older vampire already opening his eyes, simply disorientated and, apparently, unable to stand unassisted just yet. Vlad helped him up, surprised when Bertrand let him.  
"That's embarrassing..."  
"You just came back from the _dead_, you're allowed to be a bit wobbly. Sit down for a bit." He reached around the side of his coffin for the bottle he'd filled with blood from his barrel, handing it over to Bertrand. "Drink, you look like you need it." Bertrand took the bottle with shaking hands, sipping it appreciatively before his face furrowed into a frown.  
"Real blood. You're still on it?" Vlad shrugged.  
"I'm a vampire. It's what we drink." Bertrand took another sip, looking faintly guilty, and Vlad remembered with a jolt that his tutor had been on soy blood when he'd been slain. "It'll do you good, for now, anyway. Now what's this about an incantation?"

He was sure Bertrand was drinking deliberately slowly, refusing to meet Vlad's eye. Eventually, however, he lowered the bottle.  
"I thought... when Sethius was released, there had to be words spoken. I thought you must have tried to bring me back." Vlad realised, to his shame, that he _could_ have made an effort; hadn't he used alchemy before when all seemed lost? But he hadn't tried, even before Renfield had disposed of the dust. Bertrand hung his head, apparently realising this. "Foolish of me, really. I hadn't believed vanity to be a failing of mine."

The Chosen One didn't know what to say; of course he'd _wanted_ Bertrand back - of course he did, he'd cried out in his dreams for him enough times - but it hadn't occurred to him to try to _bring _him back. Dust was dust, or so he'd thought. Now, however, here Bertrand was, looking ashamed, and he couldn't have that.  
"You're not vain or foolish. I mean, you've already worked out how you're back and I hadn't even realised how _Sethius-" _he stopped abruptly. "Wait, we pumped the Book full of blood, but not the other things you mentioned. How-?"  
"I carried the Book around for three and a half centuries. Sometimes I had to leave places in a hurry, of course it got sweat on it."  
"And tears?" Vlad winced as Bertrand hesitated; of course, he shouldn't have asked. "Oh, right, tears of your terrified victims-"  
"I was always alone." Bertrand spoke at the same time, and Vlad cringed. He hadn't meant to pry into his personal business; it had never occurred to him that Bertrand himself might have had reason to weep. Suddenly, their previous conversation seemed a lot less awkward in comparison.

"I wanted you back. I... when I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming. I was calling for you, in my dream." His tutor's eyes narrowed.  
"What did you say?" Vlad could tell that he'd shut down his emotions again, focusing on the latest puzzle; it seemed easiest and kindest just to answer truthfully.  
"Your name... Um, I said... I think I said..." He fought down the embarrassment; it wasn't important. "I said 'I want you back. I need you back, Bertrand,' and then I woke up with a vampire around my neck." Bertrand nodded.  
"An accident, then. I apologise for the position you woke up in."  
"I'm just glad to have you back. Really." Suddenly, he couldn't express it enough. "I really missed you, it was as if... everything was wrong when you weren't here. I'm still half-convinced I'm dreaming."  
"Why would you dream of me appearing in your coffin?"  
"Wouldn't be the first time." The Chosen One's eyes widened to match Bertrand's startled expression; why had he said that? How sleepy _was_ he? "I mean, um, I-"  
"You're trying to prove this isn't a dream, I assume. I imagine you've had nightmares before." Bertrand's voice was hollow. "Nightmares where I admit to my feelings for you and you find yourself unable to escape. Well, you're not dreaming, and I'm not going to make you pretend to feel for me." Vlad gaped at him.  
"No, I never - I haven't - they weren't _nightmares_, Bertrand. But you don't feel that-" Suddenly, Bertrand's lips were on his, just for the briefest of instants, and Vlad found he had to pull him down, dragging them both to the floor, and return the kiss. Bertrand was on top of him, barely able to support his own weight, but Vlad didn't care, because he could taste the blood on Bertrand's tongue and his tutor wasn't pulling away. He had every reason to do so - Vlad had _killed_ him after all - Vlad had _killed_him, and now he was trying to kiss him as if things were ever going to be alright between them. He pushed Bertrand away a fraction and the older vampire rolled to the side, looking pained, as Vlad sat up.

"There, you see? You have control, it's not a dream. I'm glad I could help you clear that u-"  
"You can't - it doesn't matter how much I want you. There's no way you could... I _staked_ you, Bertrand. I staked you with a _hug_. You don't have to feel any obligation to do anything for me, let alone _feel _anything for me. I'm sor-"  
"Vlad, I'm barely undead, this is probably the first time I've ever _not _thought about my duty to you. You staked me in the middle of a difficult time, not knowing who to trust. This is my second chance; if you stake me for my impropriety I haven't lost much." Vlad turned to look at his tutor, who was still lying on the floor, looking exhausted.  
"But I kil-"  
"Yes. And you brought me back." A cold hand reached up to trace Vlad's jawline. "If you really don't find my feelings repulsive... if you really want me... that's..."

Bertrand didn't get any further, because Vlad was on top of him, careful not to crush him in is weakened state, trying to show him just how _much_ he wanted him. He could explain to his Dad later, he could deal with the ramifications of their actions another time. He could beg for forgiveness every day and night for the rest of their unlives, if Bertrand would let him, but right now he had a slightly bewildered vampire to kiss until he believed he'd been lost without him.


	6. Working

**And so we reach the end of this weird little piece. Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

The Count had been told that Bertrand's return was a complete mystery; Bertrand and Vlad had therefore been given the perfect excuse to research it all the time. Sometimes, they even opened a book during these intensive research sessions. Since that first desperate reunion, when they'd clung to each other as if they were doing far more scandalous things than simply kissing, they hadn't spoken of Bertrand's staking, or of his return, not to each other. Nor had they discussed their feelings for one another, preferring to express them with actions rather than words. Now, though, weeks later, Bertrand looked up from his own reading to find Vlad standing in his coffin-room doorway with a book.

"I found out a little more about the way you came back."

Bertrand didn't look as if he wanted to hear about it, but the Chosen One pressed on.  
"It says... the few recorded cases of people trying it before have almost all failed. The blood has to be willingly sacrificed by one who has need of it - Erin, I suppose, when she helped free Sethius, and I was thirsty when I dropped the necklace, no wonder it absorbed the stuff. The sweat has to be from an utterly devoted vampire - it says a half-fang, because of the loyalty, but it looks like if you're loyal enough it will work with full vampires. And the tears have to fall from the eyes of one completely devoid of hope." He passed the book over as he finished reading. "You cried for the Book, Bertrand, was it really so terrible?" Bertrand stared down at the text, suddenly vulnerable-looking.  
"Before I met you... it was worse than being without purpose. I had a purpose, but no way of reaching it... After a few centuries, I was just going through the motions. I thought I'd never find you. I began to doubt you even existed." He looked up suddenly, curious. "You brought me back; what happened here that left you so inconsolable?"

Vlad shrugged.  
"I was standing here, when the finger caught my tears. I was standing here, surrounded by your things, and knowing I could never have you back and that it was all my fault. I suppose it's not as good a reason as yours, but... things had no meaning without you, Bertrand."  
"You still think so?" Bertrand frowned as if this was surprising. "I assumed that I was merely a physical outlet-"  
"You're wrong. Bertrand, _blood_, I thought you knew. I love you." He pulled his tutor from the chair and pushed him up against the wall to reduce him to incoherent mumblings. It took Bertrand several minutes to push him away for long enough to form actual words.  
"Vlad, I love you, but-"  
"But nothing. Shh."  
"_But_ you don't owe me anything."  
"I owe you _everything_, Bertrand. But that's not why I love you."

A few more minutes passed before Bertrand reluctantly pulled back again.  
"Just... trust me in future, please?" Vlad stepped away from him, deflating.  
"I knew you couldn't forgive me that easily, even you-"  
"I forgive you, Vlad, but I don't want either of us to end up dust again. I'm on your side."  
"I know." Vlad wanted nothing more than to kiss him again, but he stood there feeling guilty, instead, until Bertrand grabbed his shirt and dragged him back towards him.  
"That's alright then." He pressed a gentle kiss just below the ear he was murmuring into. "Stop beating yourself up about it all and kiss me."

Vlad didn't argue. He _liked_ this new, demanding Bertrand, so strangely reminiscent of the stern, bossy tutor who'd trained him to be the best vampire he could be.

He was glad to have him back.


End file.
